Five Lessons Natasha Learns About Flirting (And One That She Applies)
by Alpha Flyer
Summary: Natasha may be an expert at flirting in the context of her profession. But in real life? Not so much.


Written for the **Be_Compromised** Promptathon, for **Sugarfey** 's prompts "Contrary to popular belief, when Natasha isn't undercover, she is really, really bad at flirting", and its equally irresistible companion, "Clint, however, is really, really good at flirting. It's all the other relationship stuff he finds difficult." If that doesn't cry out for an irredeemably fluffy Five + One fic, with each segment written to exact drabble length, I don't know what does.

* * *

 **Five Lessons Natasha Learns About Flirting**

 **(And One That She Applies)**

 **By Alpha Flyer**

* * *

 _One_

"So what's a beautiful woman like you doing in a dump like this?"

The line is corny, but the twinkle in the man's not-quite-blue eyes suggests that's deliberate. Natasha decides to keep her knee from his groin, but takes a discouraging sip of her Pinot.

"Trying to forget the world is full of assholes."

"And how's that working for you so far?" The twinkle vanishes and he raises his glass in a mock toast. "Apart from your efforts to reduce the population, I mean."

When his phone buzzes and he leaves without another word, the regret comes as a surprise.

…..

 _Two_

Her hands are cuffed - " _To keep Coulson from hyperventilating"_ \- but not shackled, and she is free to watch Barton trying to get comfortable in his seat.

"If you need a pillow, you could use my lap," she purrs.

Because she owes him and he'd seemed interested, back in that bar in Pristina.

"Save it," he grunts, and stretches out his legs against the bulkhead.

She's not used to rejection; somewhat non-plussed, she gives him an exaggerated pout.

"Most men would jump at the chance. Besides…"

He cuts her off in mid-performance.

"That's not why I'm bringing you in."

…..

 _Three_

"I don't get it, May. Chocolate is supposed to work."

May looks at him like she would at a new recruit in combat training, and Natasha feels slightly self-conscious about eavesdropping. _Slightly._

"Work for what, exactly? You and Bobbi have been divorced for six months. I thought you'd noticed."

Clint sighs.

"I read somewhere, 'gifts nourish a relationship'. Like watering a plant, or something."

"Provided the plant is still alive, Barton."

He considers the matter, then smiles ruefully.

"You're right, I suppose. How about some chocolates, Melinda?"

They leave the gym together; Clint winks at Natasha as they go by.

…..

 _Four_

"Are you conscious?"

The familiar voice cuts through the fog, and for a moment Natasha thinks of telling the truth. But this is Barton, and they're battling the mob in Vegas; his ridiculous notions of chivalry have gotten them both nearly killed before.

"I'm fine," she slurs.

The chuckle takes her aback.

"Oh, too bad. And here I thought I could talk you into marrying me. Look, Elvis is all ready for us."

Suddenly, she's wide awake. Gunshots turn the chandelier into a crystal shower, and the statue of Elvis crashes down. The chapel will take days to clean.

Pity.

…..

 _Five_

"So who cares if you can't hold down a long-term relationship?"

As opening lines go she's probably done better, but Natasha is confident that Clint will see it for exactly what it is: an invitation for a no-strings quickie. (It's about time, and she's ready.)

"Bobbi tells me the sex was fantastic."

He sets down his glass with a clunk and gets up.

"So does Hand, by the way. And May. Although she ended up with Andrew, of course. And …"

It's doubtful whether he hears her over the slamming door, even when she adds, "See? I've done my research."

…..

 _Plus One_

"You're hopeless, Clint."

He grunts; whether in denial or pain is hard to tell.

"What made you think that jumping from the sixth floor balcony was a good idea?"

He mumbles something about ' _seemed like one at the time',_ but hisses when she dabs the cut on his face with disinfectant. Suddenly, it hits her.

"You could have died."

Something in her tone makes him look up; he gives her a lop-sided grin.

"Don't tell me you care, Romanoff."

She drops the bottle and the cotton on the floor, and leans down to close his mouth with hers.

"Shut up."


End file.
